


What's In A Word - Gymnophoria

by Davechicken



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4205691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt:</p>
<p>Gymnophoria - The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's In A Word - Gymnophoria

It’s hindbrain instinct, it has to be. Somewhere buried deep, the knowledge of predator presence. That’s why he can feel Derek’s eyes on him from across the room. The others talk, and he listens. Mostly to make sure they don’t come up with any damn-fool plan, to correct them on point of order. He’s not a leader, not an alpha. He’s made to follow orders, to be a good foot-soldier. This is all against type, this… advising. His eyes drift to the females, but it’s Scott who takes control.

He’s not really needed here. Not any more. He feels… redundant. So why is he here?

Is it because of those eyes? Once blue, once red, now yellow… whatever colour they are underneath, they slide across him. Man might have tamed the wolf into the dog at his heels in the hunt, or the ball of fluff in his lap on the couch, but this wolf is certainly not domesticated. Derek’s gaze doesn’t need to rake over him, it just fixes onto his own eyes and does the rest without flinching. Can’t anyone else tell? He’s being too obvious. Too open.

Whatever their thing is, it’s just… animal. Drive and fulfilment. Call and answer. Rough and ready in the dark, with just the right amount of threat to keep Chris wanting more. He must _reek_ of Derek, and no matter how much he scrubs, he’s sure someone must have worked it out. Someone must have put two and two together and come up with them fucking madly on the backseat of his car. A hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming as Derek breeds him like the omega bitch he is. His clothes feel tight around him, the rub of cotton against his nipples, the press of metal teeth close to his groin.

Derek is removing them, one by one. He can feel it, like a psychic promise. Once they’re gone, I’ll rip your shirt off, shove your pants down and hobble you, bend you over the foot of the bed and fuck you into next full moon. Or that’s what Chris wants. He wants that, not the slow ways sometimes Derek favours. A hand holding his together as he peels back the layers like unwrapping your last present on Christmas morning as an adult. Knowing this was it, this was the final gift, and after that the magic would resolve down to meat and vegetables and letting the children play with their battery-powered toys. Knowing you had one last thing and hoping it was well thought-out, and not just someone’s hasty grab at a shelf.

Was he? He met Derek’s gaze, trying to read into it. Was he happy with this offering? Did the package inside the patterned shell please him? They stared - almost equals - across the room and said nothing. Then the wolf’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles, that secret little smug smirk that was almost fond. It was enough, and Chris slid his hands into his pockets, his thumbs rubbing around the outside in an open promise.

Yes. You can have me. I’m yours.


End file.
